


Whiteout

by Todesengel



Series: Mag7 Bingo [19]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: In which a hunt for a missing girl leads to Vin and JD trapped by a snowstorm.





	Whiteout

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic does not contain any particularly graphic descriptions of violence or sexual abuse of a minor, those things are very heavily implied at certain points. Also, please take care if a (very brief) description of suicide is a trigger.
> 
> For the prompt "Snowed in/Cuddling for warmth".

They reach Pine Valley some time after noon, though the only way Vin knows that is from the big clock perched atop the telegraph office; no way to tell the time from the sun, not with the clouds and snow diffusing the light into something pale and gray. Feels closer to dinner than lunch, particularly with the way they've ridden, but all Vin can feel is the excitement of a chase nearing its end – an excitement that grows nearly unmanageable when he spots Jonah Greene's stolen horses in the livery, looking hard done by and well ridden. 

"Gonna take a look around," Vin says as soon as he's got Peso sorted. He pulls his snowshoes free of his pack and starts towards the far end of town and the forest beyond. "See what I can find."

"Vin," Chris says, stern and disapproving, and Vin bristles at the tone. "Storm's coming."

"Which is why I'm gonna take a look." Vin straightens up and stares Chris down. "Ain't gonna go far, just see which way the trail goes."

Chris grunts and glances at the sky. "You got an hour. Take any longer than that and I'm coming after you." He glances at the other fellas making their way out of the barn. "And take some company."

"I'll go," JD says, still looking mighty fresh despite the ride. "You reckon the general store'll have snowshoes?"

"Maybe," Chris says. "Get a pair for Josiah too."

Josiah groans as he straightens, but he doesn't complain, for he'd been the one to find what was left of the Greene homestead. 

"Fine," Vin says, with more irritability than he'd like. "You got twenty minutes, JD. I'm gonna go see iff'n I can find which way they went."

"Sure," JD says, darting down the churned up main street toward the general store. Vin watches him go and shakes his head; he ain't old, exactly, but he ain't as young as JD and even with his heart singing in anticipation of the conclusion of this chase he still feels the miles that they've ridden. 

"Youth is always wasted on the young," Josiah grunts. He wipes his forehead, then settles his hat more firmly on his head. "Lead on, Vin."

Vin nods and walks down the short main street to the edge of town. Pine Valley ain't particularly big, for all that it's got it's own telegraph office and a proper hotel, and it doesn't take them long to step out from the grimy end of civilization and into the deep, soft quiet of the woods. Doesn't take him long to find Bell and his brothers' trail either, for the men had been in a hurry and they hadn't bothered to hide their path as they made straight for a logging trail. Three men running, and it's the Bell boys for sure, the cross on Tommy's left boot there but blurred by the falling snow. 

Three men running, and one of them was carrying something heavy. 

"They've still got the girl," Vin says as he straightens. Josiah nods, and they share a look, for they both know there's nothing good that could come of them keeping her alive.

"How long?" Josiah asks. 

Vin looks at the tracks and then up at the sky. Ain't been snowing long, but it's snowed enough to soften everything, including the tracks. "Couple of hours? Might've gotten in days ago, though, and restocked in town." 

"Should we tell Chris?"

Vin thinks on that, drumming his fingers against the stock of his gun. He shakes his head, at last, a decisive no. "They was moving fast – trail's good now, but I don't want to take no chances waiting for the others. Definitely don't want to try and track 'em in the dark." He grins at Josiah, fast and false. "We'll just see what we can see. Ain't gonna be able to get far in an hour."

"Less than that, now," Josiah says. 

Vin nods, his smile grim. He kneels down to strap his snowshoes on, more for something to do while they wait on JD than out of any real desire to act on the vague impulse to start off on his own. The first few steps he takes are clumsy and unsure, but he soon remembers to lift his feet up high, like a fussy lady picking her way across a muddy street. After that, there's nothing to do but wait, growing ever more restless, until JD finally appears, clutching the snowshoes and heading towards them at a dead run. 

"Sorry, sorry," he pants once he reaches them. He throws the snowshoes down and rests his hands on his knees, chest heaving as he gulps in the cold, winter air. "Didn't have but two pairs and he was awful ornery 'bout selling them."

"Bell's coin, I reckon," Josiah says as he straps his pair on. "Seems even blood money can speak loudly."

"Not loud enough," Vin says. He breaks off some likely looking branches for walking sticks and hands them around before setting off into the woods. "Stay behind me," he calls over his shoulder, "and I ain't gonna wait if you fall behind."

"I ain't gonna—hey!" he hears JD say before the boy's voice settles down into a low grumble. Vin glances back to see JD brushing snow off his front, and he has to tuck his head into his shoulder to make sure the kid can't see his grin. 

"Gotta move fast, fellas," he says as he sets off. He goes faster than is kind, pushing hard – ain't got much time and for the most part the tracks are easy to read, even with the confusion of prints on the logging road. He slows some when the tracks break from the road, caution warring with his need to chase, to catch. 

"Vin?" Josiah asks, a little breathily. "Something wrong?"

"Not sure," Vin says. He stares at the tracks and the way they're closer together now, the men walking, instead of running. He grunts and shakes his head as they head deeper into the woods, marking the trees with his knife as he goes. "Just keep your eyes peeled."

"For what?" he hears JD grumble, but he pays him no mind. Everything's quiet now, soft except for the occasional grunt of the men behind him and the crunch of snow beneath his feet. 

The tracks wander, now, and double-back, and Vin thinks they're leading to Bell's camp until they take him to the edge of the clearing.

He stops, then, abruptly enough that Josiah stumbles into him. 

"What--?" Josiah begins to ask, but Vin hushes him with a sharp gesture, and some of the unease that's pricking at his skin must get through, for Josiah quiets without a fuss. 

The thing that bothers Vin the most isn't that it's a trap, but that it's so clearly a trap. Ain't no two ways to look at that clearing, snow churned up by tracks crossing every which way and that sad little bundle in the center, slowly getting covered by the falling snow. Henry Bell means to draw them out and end their pursuit right here, and all Vin can think about is how still the forest is across the way and how, even with the leafless trees, there're far too many places for three desperate men to hide.

"What're we waiting for?" JD says, louder than he should. "She's just lying there!"

"I know," Vin snaps, and he wishes that he'd said something when Chris saddled him with the boy – he's fond of JD, he really is, but there's a part of him that still don't trust the boy in a gunfight, no matter how many scrapes they've been in. But he hadn't counted on Bell stopping to fight, for that ain't never been his way of doing things, and now here they are, staring at a trap, and Vin knows he ain't got a good way out of this. 

"Shit," he mutters.

"Vin," JD says again, puffing up his chest and shoulders like he's ready to start swinging. "We gotta—"

"It's an ambush," Josiah says, his rumbling voice deflating JD faster than a pricked balloon. 

"Oh," JD says, quiet and small.

"Shit," Vin says again. He huffs out a breath and stares at the sad bundle that may or may not be Eliza Greene. In the muffled quiet, he thinks he hears a sob. 

"Your call, Vin," Josiah says. "But if it's her, I reckon she don't got the time for us to head back for reinforcements."

"Yeah," Vin says. He takes a deep breath and gestures for JD and Josiah to start circling around the clearing. "Cover me."

He steps out cautiously from the trees, every sense stretched for the slightest movement, the barest glint of light on metal. Everything is still except for the wind kicking up tiny snow flurries, but that don't make Vin feel the slightest bit better. Hard to make out much in the flat, winter light – ain't no way to tell if the shadow of that fallen log is deeper than it should be, or even if there's any traps laid on the way to the bait. 

"Liza?" he calls out as he approaches. "It's Vin Tanner. Can you come to me?"

The bundle in the clearing shifts, revealing itself to be the missing girl, barefoot and dirty and still wearing only her flannel nightgown. Her nose is red and her teeth chatter as she says, "I'm cold. I wanna go home."

"All right, sweetheart," Vin says. He takes another careful step forward; his heart's racing so that he can't hear a damn thing over the blood pounding in his ears. "Can you come here?"

"I can't," she cries, and then, "I'm cold." 

"It'll all be ok in a minute, sweetheart," Vin says. He's just a few feet from her now, and still she's the only thing that's moving in the clearing. A part of him thinks that maybe he was wrong – maybe Bell abandoned the girl and is already gone, and the only trap left is the time it'll take them to get her back to town. But Bell hadn't left her behind when one of his horses died three days back, and there ain't no reason to think he'd leave her now.

When he triggers the first bear trap with his walking stick – the barely concealed one that he sees lurking in his path – he feels grimly satisfied that his instincts were right. 

When he steps on the second one – the one set just to the right of the first, the one he triggers as he moves to avoid the obvious trap – he feels only pain as the heavy metal jaws close around his leg.

He lets out a wordless cry as he falls, twisting to avoid the girl, and it's that and the unexpected depth of snow that saves him from getting his head blown clean off. As it is, he feels the bullet from one of the Bells' gun's crease his cheek in a white-hot streak of pain; feels another part his hair as it whistles through his hat. 

"Vin!" he hears JD yell, and "Damn it, Henry, you said he'd be alone!" from one of the Bells, but it's muffled and distorted by the snow, nearly drowned by the clap of gunfire. He flounders, caught between trying to clear his gun and clear his vision, all too conscious of the bear trap on his leg and the child wailing near his head. 

It seems like an eternity before he finally gets onto his knees, the snow mostly cleared from his eyes and his mare's leg out and ready for action. He's jittery with tension, with the promise of violence, and so it takes him a moment to realize that there's nothing he can target. The Bells are out there – he can see movement in the darkening shadows of the trees, catch the occasional flash of powder, the barest glint of metal – but they ain't showing themselves. He pants, breath clouding the world around him, and waits for something – anything – to aim for. He is dreadfully, painfully, terrifyingly aware of how exposed he is, alone and trapped, and so he doesn’t think before he shoots at a flash of color spotted in the corner of his eye.

"Joseph's hairy balls," Josiah roars. "Don't shoot _me_!"

"Sorry," Vin calls. He levers another round into the chamber. A shot rings out behind him and he hunches his shoulder and dives to the side. The bullet hits the snow beside him with a dull thud, and he rolls over as fast as he can, firing back into the trees. Around him he hears a muffled _bang bang_ as JD and Josiah fire back as well. The little girl screams louder in terror, her fear overlaying the agonized cursing of an injured man. 

"Surrender, Henry Bell," Josiah calls out. "We got you outnumbered."

"The fuck you do," Bell roars out. 

"Henry," the injured man calls, "they got me bad."

"Don't you worry, Tommy, we'll kill 'em dead. You just keep shooting," Henry calls out, and Vin shoots towards the plume of breath that rising from the bushes. There's a satisfyingly meaty impact and then Henry's up out of the bushes, roaring and waving his gun. 

"Damn you, Tanner," he cries. "I'll kill you!"

"Like to see you try," Vin shouts back, which probably ain't the smartest thing he could've said in the circumstances, for Henry Bell seems to take it as a personal challenge. He rushes from the trees, firing wildly, and it takes Vin a moment to realize that Henry's aiming for Eliza and not for him. He curses and dives for the girl, covering her with his body as much as he can. She shrieks and thrashes against him, her stick thin arms smacking him in the face. He grunts and holds her tighter. Bell's bullets thud into the snow around them, and for a moment Vin thinks that he's caught some of Ezra's luck, for it seems that Bell's too angry to shoot straight. Then one of them finally hits, sinking deep into his shoulder, and Vin roars out in pain. 

"I got you, Vin," he hears JD say, but Vin ain't got a lot of hope that JD'll put Bell down in time. He pants into the snow beneath him, aware only of the hot blood seeping into his shirt and the little girl trembling in his arms, and waits for the end to come.

It's something of a surprise, therefore, that instead of the bullet he's expecting he feels a heavy weight fall upon him. He tenses against a rain of blows that doesn't come, and it's not until he feels hands pulling the body away that he realizes Henry Bell is dead. 

"Well," Josiah says, once they've pulled Bell's corpse off of him, but that's all he says. Vin nods, though what he really wants to do is roll over and empty his stomach into the pink-red snow, his shoulder awash with pain now that the rush of battle is no longer filling his veins. He doesn't, though, because they ain't got the time for that; ain't got the time for him to be writhing, useless, on the ground neither, so he pushes the pain down as far as he can. 

"Here," he says, passing the girl to Josiah. "Get her back to town. Storm's coming and I'm just gonna slow you down."

"Vin," Josiah says, clearly torn. 

"I'll be fine," Vin lies as he pushes himself up onto his feet, grabbing his unbroken walking stick to help him. "Sooner you boys get back to town, sooner you can get Nathan out here to help."

"I'll stay," JD says, and he sticks his chin out defiantly when Vin looks at him. "Ain't gonna leave you here alone, Vin."

"Fine," Vin says, because they ain't got time to argue, not with the sky lowering darkly at them and the snow falling faster. He grabs Josiah's arm and says, "Don't do anything stupid, hear? And don't let Chris be bullheaded. Me and JD'll be fine."

Josiah frowns, for he sees the falling snow and feels the wind just as well as Vin, and Vin reckons he knows what it all means for their chances. But he also knows as well as Vin does that it's the girl who must be rescued. 

"We'll be back," Josiah says, and then he's off, striding through the trees and carrying Eliza like she weighs nothing at all. 

Vin watches him to make sure he's got the right path, then he turns to JD and gestures at the trap still clamped tight to his leg; he can't feel his foot, and he's not sure when that happened. "Help me get this off."

"Holy crap," JD says, like he's just now realizing what's on Vin's leg. He kneels down and pokes at the trap, and it takes all of Vin's remaining patience not to snap at him to hurry. But he knows this ain't the sort of thing that should be rushed, and so he waits with growing restlessness as JD clears the springs of snow, then pushes the jaws down until there's enough space for Vin to pull his foot free. Vin swears as the blood rushes back into his foot and slams his hand down hard on JD's shoulder. 

To his credit, the kid takes it without complaint, and after a moment Vin squeezes his arm in apology. He should say something, probably – something reassuring, maybe – but he ain't got it in him to try to lie right now. So, instead, he takes a moment to look around and take stock of their situation. 

It ain't good, Vin reckons, for the snow is coming down fast enough now that Henry Bell and his youngest brother are rapidly becoming nothing more than soft, white lumps, the dark stains of their blood disappearing beneath the blanketing snow. The light keeps dropping, growing flatter with each passing second, and while the flurries being kicked up by the wind whistling through the trees are small for now, Vin knows it's only a matter of time before they start to get bigger. They need shelter, and fast. 

"Vin, your shoulder," JD says.

"It's fine. C'mon," he says to JD. He throws his good arm over the kid's shoulder for support and hobbles to the bush where Tommy Bell is crying.

"I didn't touch her," Tommy says. He's holding tight to his belly and there's an awful lot of blood in the snow beneath him; gut shot, Vin reckons, and he damn near puts the man down out of pity. "I didn't, I swear."

Vin nods like he believes the man; and maybe he is telling the truth, overwhelmed by honesty in the face of his imminent death. 

"You got a shelter? A camp you was heading to?"

Tommy Bell gulps the cold air convulsively. "Jamie said he knew some loggers. Said they'd take us, only we had to kill the girl."

Vin nods again. His shoulder's killing him, the pain seeping up from the deep down place he buried it. He feels pinched tight, like he's still caught in that damn trap. "How far?"

"I don't know," Tommy says. "Jamie said we had to kill the girl and Henry said we had to get off the path. I didn't want to do it. I swear I didn't. Only Henry—"

"Shut up," JD says, his face dark. He steps forward, too close to the man, and Vin swears under his breath. Tommy's gun is still within his reach and he's got the look of a desperate man. Vin shifts and puts his hand on his gun.

"I ain't gonna let you hang me," Tommy says, gulping again. "I ain't gonna die like that."

"You'll hang like—" JD starts to say, and then Vin's pushing the kid out of the way, because Tommy Bell is going for his gun.

Vin ain't the fastest draw in these parts in the best of times, and this ain't anywhere near the best of times. His mare's leg is still tangled up in its holster by the time the gun shot rings out, and he tilts and falls sideways trying to get it clear, cursing hot enough that he reckons he just might melt the snow. When he finally manages to get back to his feet, Tommy Bell has a hole in his head, and JD's got a smear of blood across his face. 

He ain't ashamed to admit he's damn glad Tommy finished the job they started. Wouldn't be the first time he killed a wounded man, but he don't like it, and he knows the kid wouldn't understand. Makes things a hell of a lot easier on them, too – he hadn't been looking forward to keeping Tommy alive through the night, not when he ain't half certain he'll cop it himself before dawn.

"Get his coat," he tells JD. "Belt too. And clean your face."

"Jesus Christ," JD says, voice small with shock. "He killed himself."

Vin sighs. He should've sent the kid back with Eliza and kept Josiah. At least Josiah would've saved his consternation for later, when the wind weren't starting to howl.

At least Josiah would've sent him off right, if it comes to that.

"We need shelter, JD," Vin says. "Need something to put down so we ain't sleeping in the snow." He limps back towards where Henry lies and prods the body with his stick. Not much to salvage there; the boys had shot the shit out of his chest and his shirt and coat were already stiff with his frozen blood. "Anyway, he was already dead. Just hadn't taken yet. Kinder death than he'd've had tonight, I reckon." 

"Vin—" JD starts, then trails off. 

"When you're done with Tommy, grab Henry's belt," he says as he moves on to the last body. He's being unkind, he knows, but he knows all too well that when Mother Nature's got her dander up, she ain't got space for kindness.

James Bell is in better shape, at least as far these things can be reckoned. His shirt's covered in gore, like his brother's, but his coat ain't too bad. It feels like it takes forever to strip it off him, and Vin has to stop twice to pant through the pain that makes stars burst before his eyes. At some point, he's aware that JD's come up behind him, a dark shape shifting in the edges of his vision. 

One last hard tug and the coat is finally free. Vin breathes in deep through his nose, not trusting his gorge to stay down where it belongs. He's shaking, and he ain't sure if it's from the cold or the pain.

"Vin, what should we do?" JD says. The wind whips at his words. 

"Here. Hold this." He straightens and pushes James Bell's coat into JD's hands, then heads to the far end of the clearing where he reckons the Bells were hiding. He finds their packs behind a hastily constructed blind; they're sad, mostly empty things, but there are two bedrolls, a small hatchet, a box of matches, and what he thinks might be a bible. The snow bites at his face, his hands, and he can't tell if his vision is dim because of the storm or the blood he's lost. He holds tight to the fallen tree the Bells used to build their blind and squints into the forest. He spots the tree he wants – a big pine whose lower branches are drooping and heavy with snow – not far from the edge of the clearing, and nods to himself. It's not the best shelter they could have – be a far sight better if they could build themselves a cave, mounding up the snow then digging themselves a little hollow like a beaver's den – but they ain't got the time, what with the sky so full of silent fury and the wind tugging and nipping at their heels. 

"Vin," JD says again; shouts it, really, but Vin ignores him and pushes on, focused solely on the goal of the tree and its well. 

It feels a lot like betrayal when JD grabs his arm – the bad one, the one he's been trying not to move because of how much it strains his injured shoulder. His body freezes and he tastes blood; it takes him too long to realize that he's bitten his tongue. 

"For Christ's sake, Vin, I ain't some dumb kid," JD says. "I know we're in trouble and I wanna help, but I don't know what to do. You gotta tell me!" 

"Fine," Vin says through gritted teeth. He thrusts the hatchet into JD's hands. "Go get some pine branches. Big ones, lots of needles, as many as you can carry. Then meet me at that tree."

"Pine branches? Why?"

"Damn it, JD—"

"Fine!" JD says. He drops the Bells' coats onto the snow and stomps away. For a moment Vin wants to yell at the kid, really lay into him, but he lets that moment pass – it wouldn't do anything, anyway, and they need those branches. Instead, he awkwardly stuffs the coats into one of the packs along with the two bedrolls and drags the unwieldy bundle behind him as he makes for the big pine. 

As he'd hoped, there's a decent sized well beneath the tree. Vin undoes his snowshoes and slides into the well, sinking down into the loose snow. It's awkward and slow trying to dig with one hand and a snowshoe, but he makes do – better than trying to scoop the snow out barehanded, at any rate. He's gotten down to dirt and carved out enough space for one man to sit, so long as he didn't mind his kneecaps by his ears, by the time JD comes back with the pine boughs. Vin stops and leans against the side of the well. 

"Now what?" JD says.

"Help me dig," he says.

"Ok," JD says, scrambling awkwardly down into the well, and Vin knows the kid's trying his damnedest to stare at Vin's shoulder without being seen – like he thinks Vin's gonna bite his damn head off if he says the wrong word. Vin reckons he's gotta do something, say something, to give JD some hope that they'll make it out of this just fine, but just as he's gearing himself up for it, the kid's snowshoes catch on the edge of the pit and they bring a small avalanche of snow down with him.

"Jesus, kid, be careful," Vin snaps, instead of the vaguely reassuring words he'd been thinking. JD glares at him, looking like he's about to say something before thinking better of it. He takes off his snowshoes, instead, and starts to dig. It goes faster with the two of them working, and before long they've cleared out enough space for two men to sit with at least some passing sense of comfort. 

"What about the branches you had me cut?" JD asks when they're done.

"Gotta make a roof," Vin says. "Lay 'em out, like thatching. And put the snow on top." He looks at sides of the well, and stubborn man though he is, he reckons he at least knows when to put his pride aside. "You're gonna have to do it, kid. Don't think I can make it up without bringing half of this down."

"Ok," JD says, scrambling up. Vin waits until he's over the lip before sinking down and resting his back against the tree trunk. He's tired, suddenly, and a part of him just wants to close his eyes and rest. 

He bares his shoulder, instead, peeling back all his layers and hissing as the cloth of his undershirt rips free from where it's stuck to his skin by his blood. His shoulder's still bleeding, slow and sluggish, and he doesn't know what that means except that it can't be good. In the dimming light of their shelter, Vin uses his knife to cut the Bells' pack into strips to pack against the wound. It's awkward trying to maneuver the bandages in place, and he thinks maybe he should wait until JD's done and can help him. But he don't trust the kid not to poke and prod, and he ain't sure he'll keep his temper if that happens – and, though he hates to admit it, he hates how helpless the injury makes him feel. He should be up there, laying down their shelter, only he can't 'cause he reckons he ain't gonna be able to make the climb, not without destroying everything they've done. So, in the end, he has to resort to leaning hard against the tree trunk while he wraps Henry's belt around his chest and cinches it as tight as it will go. 

He's just got his shirt back on when JD calls out, "Ok, I've finished."

"You got any branches left?" Vin asks as he struggles back into the rest of his layers.

"Nope," JD says, sounding damn pleased with himself. 

"Then go cut some more. We need to line the floor of the well." Vin shifts on the cold earth and adds, "as much as you can carry and then grab some more."

"Thought that was what the coats was for," he hears JD grumble, and then the crunch of snow as he walks away. 

Vin sits in the muffled darkness and waits. It's hard to tell how much time passes, the light stuck in some sort of eternal dusk, and he wonders: was he right to send JD out alone? The kid's grown a lot since he first jumped off that stage coach, but Vin reckons he's still a city boy at heart. Can he find the right tree in a forest? In a snowstorm? That'd be a tall ask for any man, even one that'd cut his back teeth scraping up a living out here. 

He's just starting to rise up when a large bundle of pine boughs drops down into the shelter beside him, quickly followed by JD. In the dim light, the frost coating JD's eyelashes and the front of the ragged scarf Casey knitted him makes him look strange and old. 

"It's really coming down," JD says.

"Better get those boughs down," Vin says. 

It ain't easy spreading the pine boughs on the frozen earth without disturbing the walls or makeshift roof, but they make do, and in the end there're enough branches to make things almost comfortable in their tiny hole. Wouldn't be the worst bed Vin's ever slept on, at any rate, and it keeps the greedy earth from leeching too much of their warmth. He settles in as best he can, knees tucked up against his chest, and waits until JD stills beside him. 

"Lemme see your shoulder," JD says. 

"It's fine."

"Vin, you don't gotta lie to me."

"It's fine," Vin says again, a bit more forcefully. "I took care of it. Ain't bleeding no more, at any rate. Besides, what're you gonna do? You ain't Nathan."

Even as he says it, he knows those ain't the right words to be spouting – not here, not now, not to JD. Kid can be right touchy at times – gives too much weight to words, like Ezra does, and Mary – and Vin ain't always the best at minding his tongue. He feels JD stiffen beside him, wounded and sulking, and he sighs.

"Here," he says, passing a coat and bedroll to the kid, the closest he can get to apologizing. "Wrap up tight. Gonna need to keep as much heat as you can."

He expects the kid to lean away, swaddle himself in both the cloth and his hurt feelings; he doesn't expect JD to tentatively lean against him and throw the bedroll over them both. 

"Few years back we had a real bad winter," JD says into the darkness. "Got so cold, the East River froze hard enough that folks were driving carts across it. Me and my ma probably woulda froze if we hadn't huddled up together."

"It ain't gonna get that cold," Vin says, but he shifts around until they're pressed tight against each other, the bedrolls and coats a solid weight on top of them. 

The quiet spools out around them, and while it ain't exactly good, Vin reckons it also ain't that bad. It's comfortable enough, and in the pine soaked darkness Vin can let his mind wander far away from the hurts of his body. He thinks of nothing at all, becomes as empty and still as he knows how to be. 

"Think it was an hour?" JD says, his voice loud and sudden in Vin's ear.

"What?"

"When the shooting started. Think we'd been gone an hour by then?"

"Hell, I don't know JD," Vin says irritably. 

"I reckon it'd been an hour," JD says a little while later. 

"So what if it was?"

"Chris said you'd only got an hour."

"That ain't—" Vin starts, ready to explain to the kid that Chris hadn't really meant Vin only had an hour; just that he wanted to remind Vin that he had to think of the others and couldn't go haring off on his own like he'd normally do when running a bounty to ground. But he can feel the tension – the fear – where JD's pressed against him, and so he says, instead, "Josiah's gonna be fine, kid. They both are."

"It was snowing awfully hard," JD says, quiet and small in the dark.

"I'm sure he got to the logging road before it really started coming down. Long as he sticks to that, he'll be fine."

"She was real small." JD says. "What kinda man takes a girl that small?"

"Don't think about it," Vin says. "Anyway, he's dead. And we'll get her back to town safe and sound and Mary'll find someone to look after her."

"I just…" JD trails off into a noise that's half a sigh, half a growl. He shifts uneasily in the darkness. Vin sighs and fumbles under the cloth until he can pat JD's knee. 

"Don't think about," he says again. 

He waits, but it seems JD's out of words for now, and Vin's rightly glad of that. He lets his mind wander, again, to that calm and quiet place. He thinks of the plains, this time: the endless sweep of prairie rolling before him, the way the wind whispers through the grass. He thinks of how empty the world can seem out there, of the stillness that can settle on the earth; of how the mist rises from the land in the morning; of the way a storm looks as it rumbles across the land far off in the distance; of how it feels to ride from dawn 'til dusk, hunting buffalo and deer and cattle and horses. He thinks of the blueness of the sky. He thinks of the feel of a horse between his legs; the thud of earth beneath the hooves, the whip of mane; of how it feels to stand tall in the stirrups – tall as he can, and yet he's still the smallest of the riders around him, not yet grown out of childhood. He thinks he can feel the wind rushing past him, cooling him down as he gallops towards a herd of buffalo, hazy in the distance. Some distant corner of his brain warns him that the cool wind bathing his hot skin is dangerous, but he doesn't care; he revels in the feel of the wind around him, the horse below him, green scent of grass and—

The pain blooms rapidly across his shoulder and he gasps as he's thrust back into his body with all its aches and pains. He's aware, suddenly, of JD stretched across him; of the way his coat is open and his shirt half off; of JD's fingers prodding at the hot flesh of his shoulder. 

"Jesus," he says. He tries to swing at JD, but his good arm is trapped beneath the weight of both JD and their bedding.

"Vin," JD says, too loud and too close; he looks surprised and relieved, and it takes Vin longer than he'd like to realize the reason he can see is because JD's burning the Bells' bible. "You're awake."

"Get offa me," Vin says as he struggles to get free.

"Hold still," JD says. "You're bleeding again."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't started poking around—"

"Damn it, Vin, just let me help!" JD shouts. He pants, breath forming a white mist around his face, and says, "I'm not some stupid kid, you know. Maybe I'm not Nathan, but I've learned some, and I ain't gonna panic or, or, or do whatever it is you think I'm gonna do."

"Fine," Vin says, too tired to fight this anymore. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

He feels JD's distrust in the way the kid touches his shoulder, the way he undoes the belt Vin's cinched tight around his chest – it's all jerky, hesitant, like the kid's afraid Vin's going to sock him. Vin sighs and closes his eyes. He rests his head rough bark of the tree trunk and doesn't move as JD peels his makeshift bandages away; he doesn't move when JD hisses out a low whistle – of shock, of worry, he isn't sure – as he looks at the wound; doesn't move as JD presses down hard enough to bruise, and rewraps his shoulder with the makeshift bandages. 

"Ain't as good as Nathan," JD says when he's done. He thrusts the burning bible into the snow, where it sizzles and smokes and says, "I think it should hold, though. At least for tonight."

"Fine," Vin says again. His head pounds and he's too hot, suddenly; feels like he's jumped into boiling water, or grabbed at a fire. He reaches up and pulls at his undershirt. He needs to get out of his clothes, needs to get out of this dark, hot hole. 

"Hey!" JD says. He slaps at Vin's hand and pulls his shirt back up over his shoulder. 

"It's too hot," Vin says, testily. He shifts on his bed of pine and sighs. 

"Reckon that's the fever," JD says as he finishes buttoning Vin's coat up tight; it's too snug against his neck, snug like a noose, and he remembers the look of desperation in Tommy Bell's eyes. He wants to reach up, to rip the heavy leather away, but JD has his hand and is tugging him down, down, down, until he's lying on the pine boughs. 

He struggles, then, trying to sit back up, and says, "Gotta keep warm."

"Thought you was too hot," JD says, and it sounds like he's smiling. Vin scowls at the darkness. 

"Not me, idiot, you," he says. "Ain't gonna keep warm lying down. Where're you gonna sit?"

"I'm fine," JD says. "I'll find room."

"Ain't gonna let you freeze, JD," Vin says. He coughs until he shakes, and then he can't stop the shaking. 

"Hey, hey," JD says, and then his arms are around Vin's shoulders and he's pulling Vin back down, smaller body pressed up tight against his back. It's still too hot and Vin pants into the darkness while his body dances to the fever's fiddle; feels like the only things keeping him from being shaken apart are JD's arms, and Vin hates it. 

"Don't gotta hold so tight," he tells JD. "Too damn hot."

"You're colder than a…than a…shoot. You're awful cold," JD says. 

"Could use some work, kid." Vin smiles in the darkness, then sighs and says, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" JD says.

"I'm supposed to keep you safe."

"I ain't a kid," JD says, but without any heat. "You don't gotta protect me all the time. I can help you sometimes, too." 

"Hmm," Vin says, noncommittally. Being taken care of sounds awful nice right now, though he's sure there's a reason it ain't good. It's been a good while since he's been as sick as this – longer still since there'd been someone to look after him. He has hazy memories of his momma tending him after some childhood complaint, but it's mostly impressions: the rough sawn planks of their cabin, the curtains she had sown, the smell of lavender and juniper rising from a bowl. He doesn't remember being held like this, and though he reckons he could do without JD's sour breath brushing across his cheek, it ain't so bad. 

"Vin," JD says, shaking him hard. "Vin, wake up."

"Ain't sleeping," he says, though he's not sure that it's the truth.

"Gotta stay awake," JD says. "Nathan made me stay awake the last time I got shot bad."

"Ain't sleeping," he says again, but he can feel himself drifting away; it's a struggle to remember where he is, to stay grounded in this cold well. He blinks and shakes his head. "Talk to me."

"'Bout what?" JD says. 

"I dunno. Anything. Home," he says. "What's it like, back where you're from?"

JD sighs and says nothing, and for a moment Vin's afraid that maybe this is too much to ask; it hits him, too late, that maybe JD'd rather not remember his past, rather not revisit a place so full of his ghosts. But then JD says, "New York's bigger'n you can imagine. There're so many people, Vin, that you can't hardly spit without hitting someone. You'd hate it – I know I did. Although some of it was all right, I guess. I used to go to school at a little village in the middle of it, 'til they kicked us all off the land and turned it into a park. Except for the sheep, they let the sheep stay." He sighs again and Vin sighs with him, trying to imagine this place. "Anyway, I reckon me and Ma had it better'n most 'cause we were live-in servants. Had a real nice employer named Mr. Roosevelt – gave me a whole silver dollar, once, after his horse knocked me off the ferry. Told me I could stay on after Ma passed, even gave me a week off with pay to get her buried. But Ma had wanted—. Well, I couldn't stay."

"Off a ferry?" Vin murmurs. 

"Yeah, I was bringing the horses back from Long Island," JD says, "and Mr. Roosevelt's horse decided to lean on me – only there wasn't anything for _me_ to lean on, 'cept the guard rail, and I was sitting on that. Damn horse knocked me clean overboard. Good thing we were still at the docks, or I'd've been in real trouble. Still, ruined my best pair of boots, and Ma wouldn't let me in the house until I'd taken three baths. And I got a rash in my…" JD shifts, and Vin knows he's blushing; he smiles, strangely pleased that after everything the kid can still be embarrassed by the simplest of things. "In my drawers. From the salt."

"Salt?"

"From the ocean," JD says. "Long Island's across the harbor from the city. Ma and I used to clam there in the summers, when I was younger and we had a day off. Learned to swim there, too – nearly drowned once, when I got caught by a wave."

"Mmm," Vin says. He wonders what the ocean looks like. It's a hard thing to picture in his mind, for though he's been a lot of places – been as far East as St. Joe's, even, back when he rode for the Express; been up to Canada and down to Mexico, and even to Sacramento, once – he can't picture there ever being that much water in one place. What do tides feel like, he wonders. He ain't no stranger to the pull and push of the moon – feels it in his blood, on occasion – but he can't imagine it being strong enough to drown a man; but Josiah's told him stories about the sea, told him about undertows and riptide currents, and how the water swells into foaming waves that crash like thunder upon the earth. He'd like to see the ocean, he thinks. He'd like to stand among the waves and feel the pull of the moon. Like to wade out into all that water, take a boat and find that new horizon. There're strange things that live in the sea: fish as big as a man, or bigger even, with mouths full of teeth; fish with horns; snakes that flash and coil red and black, as deadly as any rattler. 

Birds that can't fly. 

Fish that can.

Mermaids…

He's aware, distantly, of JD calling for him, but he's too far gone on the ocean of his mind; too busy sinking down into water a clear as any mountain lake, and yet he can't see more than the dim impressions of the things that swim about him. The sun above him wavers, grows diffuse and distorted. Water fills his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and yet he feels no panic. A hand takes his and he looks up to the mermaid swimming beside him, her flesh covered in the rainbow scales of a trout. She smiles his mother's smile and takes him down past the dim cloud of a whale, black and white like the drawing in Josiah's book; down past the coiling snakes; down past sunken ships, their masts stark as a stand of trees in winter. 

Down past all glimmering light, into a darkness he has never known before.

He struggles, a little, against the darkness, fighting weakly to push his way back to the surface. But the mermaid holds him tight and whispers words of power in his ears. He stills and grows calm, lets her words and the water carry him on through the darkness around him. 

He drifts, aimless and unhurried. His thoughts rise slowly and disjointed – vague worries of cold and snow that have no place in this dark ocean. He thinks he hears someone call his name, but the water muffles the noise, cocoons him in this empty place. 

After a time, the mermaid takes his hand again and begins to draw him up. The journey is less pleasant; the light, dim as it is, is piercingly bright, and he thrashes as he tries to avoid it. The mermaid smiles at him again, but it's not his mother's smile, for it's too full of teeth and malice. He screams, silent and desperate, and she lunges at him. He fights, swinging wildly, arms slow and leaden, until she backs away out of his reach and he can kick his way towards the surface, surging forth towards the distant hint of light. His chest burns, his body aches, and just as he thinks he can take no more he breaks through the surface with a gasp and –

He wakes to JD shaking him, looking weary but relieved. 

"Vin," JD says. "Vin, it's all right. It's morning."

"Oh," Vin says. He lies still for a moment more, trying to gauge his strength. He feels hot and weak, full of pain in all his parts and not just his shoulder and his leg; his throat aches something awful, too, and he don't know if it's from screaming or the fever. 

"How d'you feel?"

"Bad," he says, but he pushes himself upright anyway; well, no use complaining and they can't stay here. He scrapes some snow off the side of the well and sticks it in his mouth, sighing as he feels the cool water trickle down his throat. "Best get the cover off. Gonna need some help getting out." 

"Right. Of course," JD says as he scrambles up and out. Vin waits as patiently as he can while he listens to JD bang around outside the shelter. It seems to take forever before he's moved enough branches away to expose the well to the weak morning light. Vin squints and blinks as he hauls himself upright with the help of the tree trunk; seems like it'd been one hell of a storm, for JD sinks well past his knees with every floundering step he takes around the edge of the well. 

"You still got your snowshoes?" Vin calls up. 

"They're down here," JD says as he slides back in, seeming to bring half the new snow in with him. 

"Get mine too," he says as JD scrambles for them amongst the pine boughs. He thinks he might fall over if he lets go of the trunk, and he ain't sure he'll be able to get back up again. He eyes the sides of the well and he wonders if maybe it wouldn't be best to send JD back on his own; he marked the trees, after all, and he reckons that logging road ain't been snowed under. 

"There," JD says, tossing both pairs of snowshoes up and out. He reaches out to Vin and says, "You ready?"

"Yeah," Vin says, taking his hand. 

It ain't pretty getting out of the well, and Vin reckons he starts his shoulder bleeding again, but in the end they manage it. Vin lies in the soft embrace of the new fallen snow after they're done and listens to JD pant beside him. A part of him thinks that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just lie here for a while – feels like the first time a dog's age that he's actually cool – but he knows better than that. They've got to keep moving while he's able. 

He rolls over until he can get onto his knees, and he crawls to where JD threw the snowshoes. It seems to take forever to get them on, his fingers slow and clumsy, but he manages. He's shaking again when he's finished and he sways as he begins to stand, nearly falling until JD catches him around the waist. 

"I got you," JD says, and Vin's too tired to do more than nod in acknowledgement. 

"Town's that way," he says, nodding to the other side of the clearing, for even with all the snow he can still tell his right from his left.

"You reckon we'll be able to find the road?" JD asks as they begin to walk, slow and shuffling. 

"Should do, I marked the trees." 

It ain't as easy as that, of course, for the snow's covered some of his marks, and Vin has to rest more often than he'd like, propped up against some falling trunk, while JD goes ahead to find their way. Still, they make their way back home and Vin reckons they ain't far from the logging trail when he hears Josiah's bellowing their names. 

"Oh!" JD says, and Vin can feel the kid's urge to run ahead, to shout, to rejoice in being found.

"Go ahead," he says, and for a moment he thinks JD's going to do it. But the kid just glares at him, instead. 

"Ain't gonna leave you, Vin," JD says as he tugs them onward. 

"Wouldn't be leaving if you're coming back," Vin mutters, but that just makes JD firm up his jaw even more. 

"Ain't doing it," JD says, and then he shouts, loud and piercing, "Josiah! Over here!"

"Ow, ow, damn it JD," Vin curses, tugging his arm free to clutch at his head. 

"Oh crap, Vin, sorry," JD says as he helps Vin to lean against a fallen tree. He turns his head and shouts again, "Over here!"

"JD?" Vin hears Josiah bellow back, and he winces again as the sound echoes through his pounding head. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, focusing all his efforts on swallowing down his rising gorge. He's aware, vaguely, of more shouting and the echoing crash of breaking branches and cursing men, and then Nathan's gentle hands are on his face. 

"Vin, can you open your eyes?" Nathan says, soft and kind. 

"I didn't hit my head, Nathan," Vin grumbles, but he forces first one eye and then the other open. He blinks and tries to smile – more for the benefit of Chris, who is hovering like a dark cloud just over Nathan's shoulder, than for anybody else. "I'm fine."

"Bull. Shit," Chris says, and Vin smiles wider at the worry that runs like a vast river beneath Chris's words. "Didn't I say you had an hour, Vin?"

"Hey!" JD says, too loud and too close, and Vin blinks, surprised at the sight of the kid squaring up against Chris. "You leave him alone!"

"JD, what in the hell—" Chris begins to say as he backs away.

"We wouldn't've found the girl if Vin hadn't followed those tracks, right? She'd've been dead if he'd turned back. And anyway, you know Vin don't got a watch!"

"JD. Son. I didn't mean—" Chris says, looking about as bewildered as a bull being harassed by a terrier, and Vin can't help the laughter that bubbles out of him. He laughs until he can't stand, sinking slowly down until he's sitting in the snow, shivering and sore and surrounded by his friends. 

"Reckon we best get you back to town," Nathan says, brisk and business-like. He grabs JD by the back of the jacket and says, as he hauls him away, "How about we turn that energy to building a sleigh for Vin, JD."

"Nathan!" JD squawks, but he goes willingly enough, and Vin laughs again, breathy and soundless. 

"What crawled into his boots?" Chris mutters as he moves to stand by Vin.

"Aw don't be so hard on him," Vin says as he clumsily pats Chris's leg. He smiles as he watches JD chop his way through a slender aspen with more enthusiasm than skill and adds, "the kid is all right."


End file.
